


Missing Journal Entries

by fleet_of_red



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Art, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-12 19:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleet_of_red/pseuds/fleet_of_red
Summary: A collection of drabble (<1000 words each) and fanart of scenes both canon divergent and compliant.Featuring various pairings and interactions. Chapter 1 is an index with details for each chapter, which will be updated as more content is added.Pick your poison.





	1. Index

 

 

> Chapter 2: **"Ganymede, Eagle-Eye"** [Drabble]
> 
> Arthur &/ Colm O'Driscoll pre-canon
> 
>  
> 
>  Chapter 3: **"Catching Up"** [Art]
> 
> Arthur & Dutch van der Linde post-canon
> 
>  
> 
>  Chapter 4: **"Sweetest"** [Drabble]
> 
> Arthur/Micah (sort of), Canon divergence
> 
>  
> 
>  Chapter 5: **"Rock-a-Bye-Baby"** [Drabble]
> 
> Arthur/Abigail (sort of) and Arthur& Jack, fluff and angst, canon compliant
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 6: **"Spring"** [Art]
> 
> Jack Marston picking flowers, digital watercolor
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 7: **"Red Sunrise"** [Drabble] 
> 
> Pirates AU with Arthur and the Van der Linde crew

 


	2. Ganymede, Eagle-Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a scene that popped into my head while I was writing “Blood Feud and Gunpowder”.  
> My headcanon is that Colm O’Driscoll had a creepy thing for Arthur even back in the early days when their gangs were amiable towards one another.
> 
> Ganymede: A handsome youth in Greek mythology who was abducted by Zeus in the form of a giant eagle to serve as his "cup-bearer".   
> Eagle-Eye: A term to describe a great marksman 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fleet_red) and [Tumblr](https://fleet-of-red.tumblr.com/)

Arthur exhales slowly as he peers through the scope of his new varmint rifle. His breath comes out in a cloud of white vapor in the chilly October air. In the near distance, a bald eagle soars over the field and he follows it with his scope, anticipating its movement as it begins to descend with its talons drawn out, ready to snatch a prey from the field below. 

He squeezes the trigger once with a steady finger, and a loud bang rips through the tranquility of the woods, scaring a flock of nearby birds to take flight. But the young man only has his eyes set on the eagle, one of the biggest he’s seen. The shot hits true and the giant eagle spirals down from the heavens. 

“That’s some fine shootin’, boy,” a voice calls out from behind him. 

Arthur twists around, heat rising on his face as he berates himself for letting someone sneak up behind him. He can easily picture his two mentors pursing their lips and shaking their heads in disapproval. The figure steps closer, and even when he recognizes the man, Arthur still cannot calm his nerves. 

“Oh hey, mister O’Driscoll,” he acknowledges the leader of the fellow gang with a nod of his head. He lowers his rifle but doesn’t loosen his grip on it. 

“Arthur, isn’t it? Is your gang camped around here or have you just strayed too far on your own?” the older man asks casually even as his eyes scan around the woods for other members of the Van der Linde gang. They are alone. 

The youth remains silent, reluctant to reveal his camp location even to an ally of sorts. He is surprised the man even remembers his name. He met the leader of the O’Driscolls when he accompanied Hosea and Dutch to parlay with their gang, but he had exchanged nothing more than a word or two of pleasantries with the man.

“Don’t be so tense, boy, we ain’t strangers. Have you forgotten who gave you the information for that bank robbery?” the man chides with amusement and walks to the fallen bird of prey and picks it up with one hand. 

“Sure, but I also ‘member you taking a third of our haul while we did all the work,  _ mister _ ,” Arthur blurts out before he can stop himself. He wonders if he crossed a line, retorting to the leader of a gang in that tone, but the man merely flashes a toothy grin at his remark. 

“Dutch and Hosea treain’ you alright?” the man asks. 

“Can’t complain,” Arthur shrugs. Actually, he could...and has, frequently. Especially since his father figures insist on forcing him to practice his penmanship along with his marksmanship. But he isn’t about to reveal  _ that _ to the other man. 

“You know,” Colm continues while inspecting the dead eagle with a bullet through its breast, “I can use a boy like you in my gang. You’ll be richer, that’s for sure. Everyone knows we O’Driscolls go after the bigger scores.”

“It ain’t ‘bout the money, mister,” the youth replies and straightens to his full height. But the other man still stares down at him with ease.

“Call me Colm,” the man insists as he dismisses his previous statement. 

“Well, it ain’t ‘bout the money,  _ Colm _ ,” Arthur repeats, his voice dripping with snark. The older man laughs. 

“Don’t tell me old Dutch has you believin’ in his bullshit revolution against  _ modernity _ . That your little gang can somehow turn the tide against an entire nation?” Colm spits into the dirt. “Fighting to preserve a way of life; how romantic...and foolish!” 

Arthur bristles. He wants to dispute what Colm said, but his words fail him. He doesn’t even know where to start, so he shrugs and says, “Don’t know ‘bout all that...but I believe in Dutch.”

Colm shakes his head in disgust and scoffs, “Then you’ve got horse blinders on,  _ boy _ .” 

Arthur turns to leave, knowing full well he’s disadvantaged in a battle of words. 

The O’Driscoll eyes his retreat and taunts loudly, “Aren’t ya gonna come get your eagle?”  

Arthur turns back and stares at the bird dangling in the man’s hand. Damnnit, it’s his; he shot it after all! And he could really use those flight feathers to craft better arrows. He swallows his apprehension and walks to the man with his arm reaching outwards. Colm grabs his wrist and pulls him in. 

“I’ll be seeing you again, boy,” Colm hisses. Arthur jerks his arm free and glares at the man, who merely smiles and leaves with the words, “And tell Dutch I said hello.”


	3. Catching Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene I can't get out of my head: During the events of Red Dead Redemption 1 (Twelves years after Arthur's death), an older Dutch who is tired of running from the Pinkerton and John Marston spends a moment to visit Arthur's grave and reminisces about the past.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fleet_red) and [Tumblr](https://fleet-of-red.tumblr.com/)


	4. Sweetest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions Arthur and past romances  
> Arthur/Micah...sorta, but not really  
> Canon divergence, fix-it scenario

Arthur Morgan doesn’t consider himself a romantic man. In fact, he can count on one hand the number of people whose lips he has kissed.  

There was Mary, of course, to whom he shared his first kiss--full of nerves and hopes--on one sunny afternoon by a stream a lifetime ago. In the span of those few seconds, he dreamed of an entire life spent with her.

Mary continued to dole out kisses after their first, but only sparingly, like hard-earned rewards in exchange for the errands and favors she would ask of him. Arthur always felt like such a fool after those kisses...kisses that weaved promises he knew she could never fulfill. He yearned for them anyway.

Then there was Eliza, the young waitress and the mother of his child. Their kisses were chaste and sweet, like speckles that covered up the holes of his absence. They washed away weariness whenever he took a break from the gang and returned to the humble cabin he built for her. He always felt like an imposter playing a role. 

He should’ve known that the ill-gotten money he sent them would somehow lead to their demise. He wished he had loved her as much as she loved him. As he laid a final kiss on her gravestone, he hoped she never knew before she died. 

There were one or two drunken kisses after long nights in a saloon; the only thing he remembers from those kisses were the taste of vomit and headaches come morning.

“Still got a little fight in you, have you, boy?” Micah chuckles as Arthur brings his elbow down to break his choking hold. He barely rolls away in time to avoid another hit from the traitor. The former comrades are trading blows on top of a mountain at the end of everything. Hatred and pain fill his lungs like fire and Arthur can taste bitter copper on his tongue. 

“You spineless rat!” Arthur spits. His face is numb from the brutal punches and his vision is blurry in one eye...but he is not done yet.  _ Damn rat! Should’ve left him to hang in Strawberry! _ Arthur wants to tear Micah into a million little pieces for betraying them...for whispering poison into Dutch’s ears and turning him, no, revealing him into the man he is now. 

“That all you got, Black Lung?” Micah swaggers towards him and swings his fist. They started off evenly matched, but Arthur’s strength bleeds out of him with every shallow breath. The disease is killing him from the inside out. Another hit makes contact with the side of his face and Arthur drops to the ground. 

The traitor takes this chance to kick him in the ribs and celebrates his impending victory. “You lost, my sick friend.” 

Arthur pulls himself away on his elbows. He wants to unfurl a string of curses, but he coughs wetly instead from the depth of his lungs. He lets the blood slabber onto his lips, painting it with its vibrant redness. He makes a half-pained noise. 

“What was that?” Micah asks with mock concern and leans down towards Arthur. “Can’t even say your last words?” 

As Micah tilts his face closer, Arthur reaches up and grabs his collar. With the last of his strength, he presses his bloodied lips against the other man’s in a bruising kiss. It is wet and sloppy with blood, but to Arthur, the kiss tastes like justice and vengeance and victory. In his mind, he can see the traitor spending the rest of his short life in horror as he begins to display the symptoms of the fatal disease. 

Micah shoves him away with a grunt and wipes the blood off his lips with a bewildered glare.

Arthur laughs and spits out, “See you in hell you sonava--” and even as the bullets pierce through his chest and cut his final words short, he thinks to himself,  _ damn, that was the sweetest kiss.  _


	5. Rock-a-Bye-Baby

A high-pitched cry jerks Arthur awake from his slumber. His fingers instinctively reach for the shotgun next to his cot until his brain recognizes the source of the scream. He doesn’t need his pocket watch to tell him it’s still before dawn as stars cover the dark indigo sky. His eyes trail a lantern as it moves across the gang’s latest campground. 

“Abigail, please keep the baby quiet before he wakes the entire goddamn camp!” Miss Grimshaw, the matron of the camp, hisses into the open flap of the tent. 

Arthur rubs the bridge of his nose and stands up with a weary grunt. As he walks towards the tent, he can hear annoyed grumbles coming from nearby tents as the baby’s cries grow louder. The gang had recently returned from an unexpectedly long stakeout and the lot of them are in dire need of rest. 

“Jack’s teethin’,” the young mother explains as she rocks the baby in her arms, trying in vain to calm him down. There are dark bags under her eyes and stray hair all over her ashen face...but the baby isn’t the only reason she’s been missing sleep. John has been gone for weeks--just left and rode North one day. He has been uncharacteristically withdrawn and pensive prior to leaving, but there were no warnings otherwise. 

Arthur extends his hands and offers, “Here, I got ‘em, Abigail. You go n’ get some shut-eye.” 

Miss Grimshaw retorts, “Oh Mr.Morgan, nevermind this, you barely just--”

“Nah, I’ll be alright,” he dismisses the older woman’s concerns and she purses her lips knowing there’s no changing his mind. There is an unspoken respect granted to the senior enforcer and she cedes to him and leaves with a slight huff. 

Abigail nods with tears in the corner of her eyes and passes the screaming boy to Arthur. He wraps both arms around the bundle and presses the red-faced baby to his broad chest. “Shh, Jackie boy, I got ya. Shh…”

No one--not Hosea, not Dutch--has any idea where John is. Arthur wonders if he had died in a botched robbery or met an unlucky end by the jaws of a predator. Somehow, he prefers that fate for John than thinking he just left his family behind to start anew elsewhere. He feels betrayed by the man who was like a brother to him; he can’t even begin to imagine how Abigail feels.  

The baby is warm to the touch; perhaps a slight fever as a side-effect of the teething. Arthur uncorks a near-empty bottle of bourbon and dabs some alcohol onto a clean cotton cloth. He rubs it over the baby’s sore gums, a tried and tested remedy for teething babies. He carries him towards the edge of the camp away from the sleeping masses and sits down on a log overlooking the woods and mountain range. 

“There ya go, Jack,” he coos. “Now doesn’t that feel nice?” The one-year-old grips the man’s thumb with surprising strength and suckles on the damp cloth. The man rocks the baby and hums a lullaby he only half-remembers. Jack wrinkles his button nose in delight even as he closes his eyes and drifts off. 

Arthur feels a sudden tightness in his throat as memories and guilt come flooding back. 

Indeed, what kind of man leaves his son and the mother of his child like this? Where was he when they needed him the most? ...He wasn’t even there to bury them. 

He turns towards the sound of footsteps shuffling behind him as Abigail appears. “You’d be a good father,” she says as she sits down onto the log beside him.  

Arthur sniffs once and clears his throat. With the exception of Dutch and Hosea, no one else in the camp knew about the loss he suffered a few years ago; it’s not something he’s shared. Abigail doesn’t know that he had a son once. If she knew, she’d known he was a horrible father.  “You ‘oughta get some sleep while you can,” he says instead of replying to her comment. 

“I know,” she nods but doesn’t move otherwise. They sit there for a moment, with Jack finally asleep in his arms. “A boy needs his father,” she says suddenly and shuffles closer until her soft breast, barely covered by thin fabric, brushes against his bare forearm. 

Arthur has to shove away the sudden flare of desire rising from the pit of his stomach. He remembers the day Abigail arrived at their camp years ago. She was free with her affections with most of the gang, but he was the one she first set her eyes on. Even back then, his privileged status didn’t escape her sharp eyes. He had spurned her advances back then, not being able to let go of his past, and she soon moved onto John. But now? 

Jack is too young to remember his real father, but he can be there for him the way he never did for Isaac. Arthur holds the warm bundle closer to him and studies the delicate features on the baby’s face. 

And with Abigail....he can start by inviting her back to rest in his sleeping quarters, a much more comfortable arrangement than her current one. He can provide for them, and he’s sure the rest of the camp would encourage the stabilizing development after recent uncertainties. He can even marry her, give her the ring that he couldn’t give to Mary or Eliza. This can be his second chance...a way to right past wrongs.

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a long sigh. 

“He’ll be back,” Arthur whispers, staring out at the edge of the forest as if he can summon the man in question with his words. “John...John will come back to you...to the both of you.”

He can feel a slight tremor run through the soft body next to him, then he hears a barely audible sound of agreement. Abigail shifts--a subtle change--to lean her bony shoulders against his for support instead. The baby’s soft snores sound like the purrs of a kitten and Arthur picks up where he left off and starts humming a lullaby that vibrates deep within him. They sit there like that, both wrapped up in their own thoughts, as the first ray of sunlight lines the horizon. 

  
  



	6. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart of little Jack Marston picking flowers. Based on the fishing mission in the game as well as my Arthur & Jack gen fic, ["The Gift of Giving"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16903035)
> 
> Decided to try a light-hearted watercolor style to counter all the doom and gloom!


	7. Red Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Red Sky at night, Sailors delight; Red Sky in the morning, Sailors take warning." --an old sailor superstition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU taken place at the end of the Golden Age of piracy. 
> 
> (In an effort to consolidate my list of works, I've moved this story here due to its relatively short length.)

“I imagine you’ve all missed me a lot, but fear not, the joy’s back in your lives now,” Sean belts out a toast to the crew with a tankard in one raised hand. Tonight, the Van der Linde crew is celebrating the safe return of one of their own from the hands of pirate hunters. Good. They need a reason to celebrate. 

Ever since that disaster at Black Water Bay, it seemed as if they have been cursed. They lost many good sailors during the chaos of that nautical battle. They only escaped the frigates of the British Royal Navy by plunging into a storm head-on. It was difficult not to have your faith shaken as the sea threatened to swallow them all. Even as they came out of the storm intact, ill fortune continued to follow them. 

“It’s em wenches we have on the ship,” Micah snarls. “Don’t ya know, Sharkbait?” he addresses Arthur with the disdainful nickname he bestowed him, “They bring bad luck.” 

Sure, their crew is unconventional, even by pirate standards. Their captain, Dutch, had welcomed all able bodied people onboard regardless of sex or colour. But Arthur was never one for old superstitions, besides, they pull their weight and then some. 

Miss Grimshaw takes her role of boatswains mate along with Mr.Pearson seriously. Whereas the portly man is responsible for supplies and food, she inspects their double-deck, three mast galleon daily with uncompromised standards and supervises the maintenance of the wood, canvas, and ropes. They probably have the cleanest ship deck of all the Seven Seas. 

Then there’s Karen Jones who holds her own in a fight and can drink any one of them under the table--a feat, considering this crew. And if anyone underestimates Sadie Adler, they soon meet their end at the tip of her cutlass. That woman is as fierce as they come, and even Arthur has to admit: the life of a pirate suits her. 

Arthur dismisses Micah’s concern and mocks him with another common superstition. “Aye, we’re doomed then, now that we got the red-head back,” he gestures to Sean in jest. 

It’s about time their luck has turned. Before Sean’s return, there was friction amongst the crew. They had weathered many storms under Captain Dutch, but the recent mishaps called his judgment into question, even if they’re whispered under one’s breath. 

This unease was not helped by what they saw during a recent trip to a major trading port in the Caribbeans. The O’Driscolls, a rival crew of buccaneers, had recently accepted an amnesty with the Royal Navy. They found them hanging from their necks just outside the entrance of the port, their half-decomposed bodies swaying in the wind as a warning to other pirates. 

Even the vast open sea seemed to have shrunk. The Van der Linde crew could feel the noose tightening around the neck on the golden age of piracy. 

“Our time has passed,” Arthur urged his captain, a man who had raised him from a boy and showed him that there was a code to being a pirate. He was leaning over a desk covered by maps and navigation tools. 

“I have a plan,” Dutch hissed and snapped his compass shut. “The loot from Black Water Bay was supposed to buy us all a new life, Arthur. We can buy land on a small island and bribe a governor to give us peace. We just need more money!” 

“It’s not just us, Dutch, what about the women? What about Jack?” Arthur retorted, thinking about the future of the young boy who was born into this life, literally. His mother, Abigail had delivered him on the gun deck between two canons. A true ‘son of a gun’. 

“Have faith, Arthur,” Dutch said and dismissed him with an icy expression.

And that’s when he knew. Something he’d always known but had only recently realized with clarity. There will be no living peacefully as landlubbers. No. It will never be enough for him. In his eternal search for fame and fortune, Dutch will go down with the ship. 

There will always be just one more forgotten treasure to unearth, one more ship to plunder, one more settlement to pillage, and one more naval stronghold to storm. In his heart, Arthur knew there will be nothing more for him than a burial at sea, _ if  _ he’s lucky to not swing. And a part of him believed he deserves nothing more than that for all the things he had done...But he wanted  _ more  _ for the boy. 

At this very moment though, there is a reprieve from all those doubts as Sean returns and his rescuers are hailed as heroes. Dutch squeezes Arthur’s shoulder with a warm hand and comments, “You’ve all done well.” Their previous argument seemingly thrown into the wind. 

The wind in the sail has shifted, it’s about time their luck did too. It’s easy to forget their recent misfortunes as grog is passed out. Uncle, who isn’t half as annoying when he’s not complaining about his scurvy, starts bellowing out the lyrics of a shanty. Already three sheets to the wind, he spills his drink as he sings:

“--Our anchor we'll weigh, our sails we will set

The friends we are leaving we'll never forget--”

Hosea, their old sea dog and quartermaster chimes in, and soon the whole crew starts singing. Nearby, Javier trades his musket for the accordion and adds a melody to accompany the song. 

“--Good bye, fare thee well

We're going away to leave you now

Hoorah, me boys, we're homeward bound--”

Lenny hands Arthur a full tankard and he takes it with a grateful nod. Little Jack claps his hands along with the music and laughs as he watches his father dance clumsily with his mother. Abigail doesn’t seem to mind as she corrects his posture with a smile. Their pet monkey, Cain, dashes between dancing feet and steals a grape while no one is watching. Mary-Beth with her pretty curls and freckles wanders over and asks Arthur for a dance. He twirls her in a flair and she giggles.

Arthur recalls the words he said to Sean as he cut him loose from the pirate hunters before they could hand him off to the navy. “--Nothing means more to me than this crew. The bond we share, it’s the most real thing to me. I would kill for it, I would happily die for it--” And it has never been more true than now. 

No one wants the celebration to end, and they continue to drink and dance and sing until the first light of dawn hit the waves. 

_ Please, _ Arthur thinks as he looks towards the brightening sky with just a hint of a red hue.  _ Please, let this moment last. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shanty is "Good Bye, Fare Thee Well", originally sung by the crew of Zawisza Czarny


End file.
